The Leopard Hunts In Darkness Part 26

"Aphrodisiac," Peter murmured, touching one of them with his long, tapering fingers.

"That's a fallacy," Craig said. "Chemical a.n.a.lysis shows they contain no substance that could possibly be aphrodisiac in effect." "They are nothing wore than a type of agglutinated hair ma.s.s," Sally-Anne "explained. "The effects that the failing Chinese roue seeks when he crushes it to powder and takes it with a draught of rose water is merely sympathetic medicine the horn is long and hard, voilap "Anyway, the Arab oil men will pay more for their knife-handles than the cunning old Chinese will pay for their personal daggers," Craig pointed out.

"Whatever the final market, the fact is that there are two less rhino on Zambezi Waters than there were a month ago, and in another month how many more will have gone?" Peter Fungabera stood up and came around the desk on bare feet. His loincloth was freshly laundered and crisply ironed. He stood in front of them.

"I have been pursuing my own lines of investigation," he said quietly. "And all of it seems to point in the same direction as Sally-Anne's own reasoning led her. It seems absolutely certain that there is a highly organized poaching ring operating across the country.

The tribesmen in the game, rich areas are being enticed into poaching and gathering the valuable animal products. They are collected by middlemen, many of whom are junior civil servants, such as district officers and game department rangers. The booty is acc.u.mulated in various remote and safe caches until the value is sufficient to warrant a large single consignment being sent out of the country." Peter Fungabera began to pace slowly up and down the room.

"The consignment is usually exported on a commercial Air Zimbabwe flight to Danes-Salaam on the Tanzania coast. We are not sure what happens at that end, but it probably goes out on a Soviet or Chinese freighter."

"The Soviets have no qualms about wildlife conservation," Sally-Anne nodded. "Sable-fur production and whaling are big foreign-exchange-earners for them." o Air Zimbabwe operations fall under?"

"What portfolio d Craig asked suddenly.

AL "The portfolio of the minister of tourism, the honourable Tungata Zebiwe," Peter replied smoothly, and they were all silent for a few moments before he went on. "When a consignment is due, the products are brought into Harare, all on the same day, or night. They are not stored, but go directly onto the aircraft under tight security conditions and are flown out almost immediately."

"How often does this happen?" Craig asked and Peter Fungabera glanced enquiringly at his aide who was standing un.o.btrusively at the back of the room.

"That varies," Captain Timon Nbebi replied. "In the rainy season the gra.s.s is long and the conditions in the bush are bad. There is little hunting activity, but during the dry months the poachers can work more efficiently.

However, we have learned through our informant that a consignment is almost due and will in fact go out within the next two weeks-" "Thank you, Captain," Peter Fungabera interrupted him with a small frown of annoyance; obviously he had wanted to deliver that information himself. "What we have also learned is that the head of the organization often takes an active part in the operation. For instance, that ma.s.sacre of elephant in the abandoned minefield," Peter looked across at Sally-Anne, "the one that you photographed so vividly well, we have learned that a government minister, we do not know for certain which one, went to the site in an army helicopter. We know that on two further occasions a high government official; reputedly of ministerial rank, was present when consignments were brought in to the airport for shipment."

"He probably does not trust his own men not to cheat him, "Craig murmured.

"With the bunch of cut-throats he's got working for him, who can blame hir& Sally-Anne's voice was hoa.r.s.e with her outrage, but Etter Fungabera seemed unaffected.

"We believe that we will be forewarned of the next consignment. As I have intimated, we have infiltrated a man into their organization.

We will watch the movements of our suspect as the date approaches and, with luck, catch him red-handed. If not, we will seize the consignment at the airport, and arrest all those handling it. I am certain we will be able to convince one of them to turn state's evidence." Watching his face, Craig recognized that same cold, flat, merciless expression that he had last seen when Comrade Lookout reported the death of the three poachers. It was only a fleeting glimpse behind the urbane manner and then Peter Fungabera had turned back to his desk.

"For reasons that I have already explained to you, I require independent and reliable witnesses to any arrest that we might be fortunate enough to make. I want both of you to be there. So I would be obliged if you could hold yourselves ready to move at very short notice, and if you could inform Captain Nbebi where you may be contacted at all times over the next two or three weeks." As they rose to leave, Craig asked suddenly, "What is the maximum penalty for poaching?" and Peter Fungabera looked up from the papers he was rearranging on his desk.

"As the law stands now, it is a maximum of eighteen months" hard labour for any one of a dozen or so of fences under the act-"

"That's not enough." Craig had a vivid mental image of the violated and rotting carca.s.ses of his animals.

"No," Peter agreed. "It's not enough. Two days ago in the House I introduced an amendment to the bill, as a private member's motion. It will be read for the third time on Thursday, and I a.s.sure you it has the full support of the party. It will become law on that day."

"And," Sally'Arme asked, "what are the new penalties to be?"

"For unauthorized dealing in the trophies of certain scheduled wild game, as opposed to mere poaching or hunting, for buying and reselling and exporting, the' maximum penalty will be twelve years at hard labour and a fine not exceeding one hundred thousand dollars." They thought about that for a moment, and then Craig nodded.

"Twelve years yes, that is enough." eter Fungabera's summons came in the early morning, when Craig and Hans Groenewald, his overseer, had just returned to the homestead from the dawn patrol of the pastures. Craig was in the middle of one of Joseph's gargantuan breakfasts when the telephone rang, and he was still savouring the homemade beef sausage as he answered it.

"Mr. Mellow, this is Captain Nbebi. The General wants you to meet him as soon as possible at his operationalheadquarters, the house at Macillwane. We are expecting our man to move tonight. How soon can you be here?"

"It's a six-hour drive," Craig pointed out.

"Miss Jay is already on her way to the airport. She should be at King's Lynn within the next two hours to pick you up." Sally-Anne arrived within the two hours, and Craig was waiting on the airstrip. They flew directly to Harare airport and Sally-Anne drove them out to the house in the Macillwane hills.

As they drove through the gates, they were immediately aware of the unusual activity in the grounds. On the front lawn stood a Super Frelon helicopter. The pilot and his engineer were leaning against the frise lage smoking and chatting to each other. They looked up expectantly as Sally-Anne and Craig came up the driveway, and then dismissed them as unimportant. There were four sand, coloured army trucks dra A Wn up in a line behind the house, with Third Brigade. 4oopers in full battle, kit grouped around them. Craig could sense their excitement, like hounds being whipped in for the hunt.

Peter Fungabera's office had been turned into operational headquarters. Two camp tables had been set up facing the huge relief map on the wall.

At the first table were seated three junior officers.

There was a radio apparatus on the second table, and Timon Nbebi was leaning over the operator's shoulder, speaking into the microphone in low rippling Shana that Craig could not follow, breaking off abruptly to give an order to the black sergeant at the map, who immediately moved one of the coloured markers to a new position.

Peter Fungabera greeted Craig and Sally-Anne perfunctorily and waved them to stools, then went on speaking into the telephone. When he hung up he explained quickly, "We know the location of three of the dumps one is at a shamba in the Chimanimani mountains, it's mostly leopard, skins and some ivory. The second is at a trading, post near Chiredzi in the south that's mostly ivory. And the third is coming from the north. We think that it's being held at Tuti Mission Station.

It's the biggest and most valuable shipment, ivory and rhino horn." He broke off as Captain Nbebi handed him a note, read it swiftly and said, "Good, move two platoons up the north road as far as Karoi," and then turned back to Craig.

The operation is code-named "Bada", that is Shana for "leopard". Our suspect will be referred to as Bada during the entire operation." Craig nodded. "We have just heard that Bada has left Harare. He is in his official Mercedes with a driver and two bodyguards all three of them Matabele, of course."

"Which way?" Sally-Anne asked quickly.

"At this stage, he seems to be heading north, but it's still too early to be sure."

"To meet the big shipment-" there was the light of battle in Sally-Anne's eyes, and Craig could feel his own excitement tickling the hairs at the back of his neck.

"We must believe that is so," Peter agreed. "Now let me explain our disposition if Bada moves north. The shipments from Chimanimani and Chiredzi will be allowed through unhindered as far as the airport. They will be seized as soon as they arrive, and the drivers, together with the reception committee, arrested, to be used as witnesses later.

Of course, their progress will be under surveillance at all times from the moment the trucks are loaded. The owners of the two warehouses will be arrested as soon as the trucks leave and are clear of the area.) Both Craig and Sally-Anne were listening intently, as Peter went on, "If Bada moves either east or south, we will switch the focus of the operation to that sector. However, we had antic.i.p.ated that as the most valuable shipment was in the north, that's where he will go if, of course, he goes at all. It looks as though we were right. As soon as we are certain, then we can move ourselves."

"How are you planning to catch them?" Sally-Anne demanded.

"It will be very much a matter of opportunity, and what we will do depends necessarily on Bada's actions. We have to try and make a physical connection between him and the consignment. We will watch both the vehicle carrying the contraband and his Mercedes, and as soon as they come together, we will pounce-" Peter Fungabera emphasized this act of pouncing by slapping his leather, covered swagger-stick into the palm of his hand with a crack likea pistol shot, and Craig found that he was already so keyed up that he started nervously and then grinned sheepishly at Sally' Anne

The radio set crackled and the side-band hummed, then a disembodied voice spoke in Shana, and Captain Nbebi acknowledged curtly, and glanced across at Peter.

"It's confirmed, sit. BJda is moving north on the Karoi road at speed."

"All right, Captain, we can go up to condition three," Peter ordered, and strapped on the webbing belt with his bolstered sidearm. "Do you have anything from the surveillance teams on the Tuti road?" Captain Nbebi called three times into the microphone, and was answered almost immediately. The reply to his question was brief.

"Negative at this time, General, he reported to Peter.

"It's still too early." Peter adjusted his burgundy-red beret to a rakish angle, and the silver leopard's head glinted over his right eye.

"But we can begin moving into our forward positions now." He led the way through the french doors onto the veranda.

"Me helicopter crew saw him, quickly dropped their -te hatch.

cigarettes, ground them out and vaulted up into d Peter Fungabera climbed up into the fuselage and the starter -motor whined and the rotors began to spin overhead.

As they settled down on the bench seats and clinched their waist, belts Craig asked impulsively the question that had been troubling him, but he asked it in a voice low enough not to be heard by the others in the rising bellow of the main engine.

"Peter, this is a full-scale military operation, almost a crusade.